Guilty, Filthy Soul
by Saxiphony
Summary: A single restless mind can tear apart humanity like a hungry shark  if given an opportune chance. Who would have ever thought that this would be meant literally? Follow a soul as it gets guiltier...and filthier. A Hody Jones fanfic.
1. A Diseased Mind

Okay this is my first story on this account. :3 I will say that I have to put a major warning out for spoilers...seeing as one of the main characters in this is not even an archived character yet on this site. XD (I am working on getting him added though) Anywho, this is sort of a background story for a certain new sharky character. I hope you enjoy it. :D Read and review please and be perfectly honest.

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><p>The world only ever looked sane when it was balanced upon the edge of a dagger. At least, that's what this particular fishman had always thought. The chariot was swinging low today, lower than it had ever managed before, but he knew all too well that the ride was not for him. No, it was for the insolent fools that had chosen to defile the sanctity of his homeland and make his blood run with all the fire of strong whiskey: humans. If he could only have his way, he would personally see to the downfall of such an insignificant race, the pale, unctuous worms of the world, and cast them down either as slaves under his right fist or as a writhing, bloody mass. How he yearned to sink each one of their battered bodies to the ocean floor like the plummeting carcass of a dead Sea King, and feed the fish that were so much more deserving of the spark of life in the process. His plans were cruel, yes, but were all foiled before they were even put into motion by the one person he despised the most: the sympathetic and vulgar queen of Fishman Island, that wretch Otohime.<p>

Veins strained against taunt flesh as the grip upon his trident strengthened, muscles pushing against his palace guard uniform in frenzied anger, a sharp line set to his jaw. Just the thought of the vile women twisted his organs into an irritated knot. Too long had he daydreamed lonely at his post of the day where he would be able to end her, to tear her veins from her heart and her flesh from her bones, to leave her as nothing more than a shattered waste of iron-scented viscera. It was perhaps her fondness for "land and sea cooperation and integration" that irked him the most. If there was one thing that he scorned more than humans, it was the part of the oceanic community that had become sensitive to the plight of Homo sapiens, especially those who advocated the migration to the surface world. He knew these Blasphemers would receive holy retribution someday, just not when or how. Their senseless endeavors needed to be quashed; they gave him an acerbic taste in his mouth and an unusual chill crept its way into his bones whenever his brain was foolish enough to mention them.

The quick drumming of a metal handle against the prison tower floor's tiles awoke the fishman from his perverse musings; the Minister of the Right had chosen to push himself into the guard's mind and swing close to his face the end of a sharp-edged trishula, a grumpier expression than usual knitting his brow. This particular man responded to the higher-ranking official's attempt to provoke his responsiveness with a curt harrumph, crossed arms, and a pair of rolled eyes. He stared warily at the seahorse merman, awaiting the obvious complaints or bad news that he was sure to come, let alone the endless piles of paperwork the man was bound to dump on him, which would all need to be hastily filled out. He tugged at the loose scarf around his neck as if to improve his ability to breath and repositioned his spiked helmet, his gloved hands shaking with sullen anticipation. It just so happened that the equine undersea dweller chose to scratch his chin broodingly before taking out an extremely authorized-looking document and shoving it into the fishman's scowling face, which, if memory served right, was never really that great of a sign for how the rest of the day was going to progress.

"Soldier! I need your undivided attention for one moment please! The king has made some changes to our policies vis-à-vis the ground forces currently pulling lookout duty in the army. After some deliberation, we have decided to implement a rotation procedure," the Minister finally managed to sputter out.

A chuckle blissfully escaped from the addressed man's upturned lips. This was a situation that he had become accustomed to long ago when he was still nothing more than a new recruit. The Minister of the Right's overreactions could always be considered golden sources of entertainment. The guard's obvious amusement at his superior's fatigue did not go unnoticed, however, and the seahorse merman quite visibly inflated within his elaborate armor like a flustered hen. He did not work so hard to get this much military experience under his belt just to have to deal with daily doses of underling insubordination. He was literally the right-hand man of the king after all.

"Oh, you think that's funny, do you?" the Minister bellowed with indignation. He directed the razor-sharp end of his weapon even closer to the fishman's stub nose. "I do suggest that you start acting with respect to your superiors, boy! Now, are you a member of Neptune's Army or not? I suggest you start showing some decorum or I will change your sentinel contractual obligations to janitorial obligations! Understood?" he continued, but the palace guard still remained unfazed.

The seahorse merman puffed up once again, the coronet bristling on the back of his head, and he brought down the end of his trishula onto the tiles of the floor for a second time with enough force to shatter them, this specific occasion producing a sound so loud that it resonated harshly against the fortified walls of Ryugu Palace. Fury seemed to explode out of his beady eyes, telltale signs that he was now willing to vent all of his frustration and impatience out on the fishman.

"Hody Jones! I want you to go to your designated guard position at the outer wall today and I don't want to see your face again until tomorrow. You understand me?" the Minister of the Right said with enough force to shake the heavens. He was sure that even King Neptune, Queen Otohime, and her children had had the chance to hear his last inquiry within the imperial, interior chambers, which made him more than satisfied for the day. He smiled smugly with the pleasure that could only come with the knowledge that he had possibly gotten his point across.

It seemed as though his efforts had been successful, too, as the man known as Hody Jones finally looked as though he was going to address the equine undersea dweller. He uncrossed his arms, batted his long eyelashes at his superior, flashed him a winning smile that was more menacing than reassuring considering his ample rows of triangular and jagged teeth, and he twisted a stray tuft of his long, black, curly hair absentmindedly around a finger on his left hand before saying in a mocking voice, "Yes, Minister! Whatever you say Minister! Right away MINISTER! Jahahahahaha!"

He then promptly turned on his heels to head to his new position, too overwhelmed by bouts of laughter to continue any further, leaving a startled and infuriated Minister of the Right in his wake. The echo of his heavy boots against the tower walls and the soft swish of the skirted bottom of his uniform disturbed the air, corrupting it.

"Damn shark," the seahorse merman muttered more than a little disheartened; he had just been put in his place by one of his underlings again, and he was undoubtedly depressed by the fact. He hung his head as miserably as his seahorse frame and prehensile tail could allow, and made his proverbial march of shame back to his office quarters, the assignment papers falling from his hand like summer snow.

As the undersea sun took one final breath and began to sink down below the coral hills, forever like a pink curtain shielding its leading actor after a grand performance, Hody Jones looked far off into the depths of the serene ocean water surrounding Ryugu Palace, clasping his trident across his chest, hoping for some sign of violence, of any chance for combat-related mirth, but none came. He deflated sullenly, his hair becoming a waterfall of his discontent. The shark fishman then chose to fall gracelessly to the ocean floor with a childish pout on his lips, his bottom sinking back onto the cold ground.

To produce at least a miniscule amount of entertainment, he busied himself with watching the eddying colors within the great bubble wall surrounding the bastion of Neptune's kingdom, but not even their desperate ballet, so akin to the struggling movements of a drowning human, could hold his attention. Hody Jones longed for an ocean filled with bodily red wine, of water overcome by the sheer and unimaginable carnage of war, of bodies to maim and mutilate. How he wanted to test his power. One day, he was certain, he would be able to achieve his desires; he would be able to show them all, to prove himself to the man he respected the most: Arlong the Saw. Turning his eyes to the heavens above, he made his restless oath as he did every night, promising the world happily its end of harmony and peace. He could have sworn that he even saw his first star.

Hody Jones wanted to be considered a hero of the fishman race, but, at the age of twenty, he was still young and indecisive. It would only take one folly born of the world above and beyond the sea to give him the call to action that he so desperately desired.


	2. In The Land of Heavenly Devils

Ha ha! Finally! A new chapter! How exciting! (Sadly, even I am excited.) Sorry for the uber long wait for an update. I had to finish my honors proposal post haste. I hope you enjoy this at least. :3 R&R!

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><p><em>The world was a crematorium; full of people and always burning.<em>

An old woman turned and simpered sweetly, the material hopes of the world reposing squarely on her arthritic shoulders, a hump in her back. Her brittle hands quaked as she brought bony fingers carefully together like needles into an old cross-stitch pattern, eyes transfixed by the peculiar sight unfolding in the plaza. The smell of money was not only pungent in the air, it was consumed by it; transfigured grotesquely by the depths below, by the very searing flames and brimstone of the pits of Hell that awaited all who were unfortunate enough to find greed within their hearts. She might as well of been on a planet much closer to the sun because this immortal sin had left the air dank and hot, rocked by the disturbance of wealth's Machiavellian touch. Her leather boots were her only anchor into reality; their damaged soles digging into the cobblestones of the street.

If it had not been for their cradling comfort she might of thought she was somewhere other than Mariejois, for, with all the astronauts walking around in broad daylight today, their posh noses pointed straight at the heavens like a compass arrow signaling north, she might as well have been entirely on another planet. The old woman wheezed slightly in the corrosive atmosphere, her wares held forward in her wrinkled palm. The single red apple shone like blood in the harsh daylight.

The grating sound of the application of a hard wire brush echoed in the cosmos like carpenter nails. A fishwoman was gathering dust, crouched low in front of her mistress, the composition of dirt her current area of study. The backless shift dress that she wore was already dyed the color of soot, her tattoo that signaled her position as a slave standing out like a red lesion on her lilac back. Her eyes darted here and there frantically, moving from left to right like the pendulum in a grandfather clock. Minutes were ticking away; her life was on the edge and being prodded harshly by the branding iron she had become accustomed to, and that she knew far too well. The plastic dust pan that she held in her right hand skidded across the uneven expanse of the road, ready to receive its next tribute.

The ugly masterpiece that was the bleached-white buildings of the World Government's capital seemed to yawn at the duo's approach. It held its breath, unwilling to take in something so profane. The sight was enough to stop foot traffic for a month. The fishwoman's yellow bangs hung lank and shaggy in front of her eyes, but that didn't mean that she wasn't able to see all the mouths that hung open, gaping and horrified, and the expanding retinas, so much like daggers into flesh. The girl's spiked, rotund headdress could not hide her prideful shame.

_She was collarless._

The entirety of Mariejois seemed to cringe; only a fool would be so bold. Then again, the slave's mistress was certainly no genius. An idiot savant of being an idiot. The sunlight coruscated across her golden half-mask almost reluctantly.

"Make way, make way you buffoons!" called a clerk from his store's entrance, sweat forming on his brow. "It's Saint Velveteen!" If the day hadn't already seemed bleak, it was now infused with the air of a mortuary. People would have started digging their own graves if they had had the shovels and the vigor to do so. The oven that was Mariejois did not allow for much. The one known as "Saint Velveteen" heated it to a state that was unbearable, and the point of her sky-high stilettos punched tiny dots into the entire scene like a typewriter.

The old woman stared warily at the noble's tight, red leather skirt and exposed brazier, half expecting a premature show of paste-white skin. She was also sporting some sort of new technology upon her back; a smaller, more compact oxygen-dispersion apparatus. A creation of the cruel and ingenious Vegapunk, nonetheless. This particular hoyden was obviously some kind of vulgar trendsetter.

There certainly was nothing "saintly" about her.

Now was her chance.

"Oh! What a fine beauty you are!" she cooed as Saint Velveteen came within earshot. The Tenryuubito, having heard similar comments before, ignored the hag's attempt entirely. Her plush lips curled into a scowl that would have made a rabid dog jealous. Harrumphing loud enough for everyone in the plaza to hear, she pulled her fur jacket closer to her skeletal frame before stalking off. The desperate woman, although old as she was, would not give up so easily. She grabbed an especially fine apple from her stall and thrust it forward into the open air like a ruby with an unusual swiftness unsuitable for her age, her bones creaking menacingly in protest at the gesture. "Oh, miss! Hold on! Won't you have just one bite!" she called in a sugar-coated voice. Holding her patched, tartan dress up to allow for movement, the apple vender pushed through a wall of a man to get to the wisp that was Saint Velveteen. The fruit's waxy skin had just brushed against the noble's cheek when the entire scene exploded, the sound of rustling cloth filling the world.

An obvious misstep starts out like bile in your throat, and then slowly chokes the life out of you. The burden of social decorum has yet to cloud the cynic egg.

A quick-pulled trigger painted the filthy gutter with the pathetic, old woman's occipital lobe. Somewhere in the plaza, a baby discovered the willpower to hold back its tears. The warm summer became frozen in the dead of winter, and the slave girl hung her head violently in fear. No one dared to make a move.

"Get your filthy hands away from my face you vile, decrepit hag! How dare you share such close proximity to me! Ugh!" the Tenryuubito shrieked in a delicate voice through the gun smoke, her gray eyes flashing momentarily crimson. She was looking at the still corpse as if it had just grown a tail. Placing the pistol back into its convenient holster within her coat, she decided to raise her voice to the commoners again. "What are you worms looking at? Huh? Are you saddened by my actions or just plain daft? Move along!" she cried shrilly and lazily, lolling her eyes about her skull. She did not have time for such madness.

Saint Velveteen was the type of woman who had had the misfortune of crawling out of her mother's womb screaming, and the pleasure of never ceasing for all thirty-two years of her existence. No one ever seemed to be impressed.

The townspeople, being quite concerned for their own safety, quickly heeded her message, and the normal bustle of Mariejois returned almost instantaneously. Satisfied, the noblewoman affixed her gaze once again into a straight, hard line. She still had her own business to take care of.

"Damn it! Damn it all! Where is that foul, idiot of a girl?" the woman bellowed into the world's ear. The unusual powdered wig that towered precariously above her ghostly features like divine judgment's fist shook as if in agreement. The bubble-like contraption encompassing her head quivered with each foul gush of renewed breath, supplemented by her oxygen tank. Saint Velveteen was more than just upset, she was livid. Her reputation was currently at stake, after all.

Another undesirable has wounded a stately woman as an ancient philosophy rattles past a drawn blank. The Tenryuubito continued her progress down the street.

The fishwoman perked up at this movement and returned to her janitorial duty; a single speck of grime could take away everything. The scratching sound of her brush once again reverberated across the cobblestones, a tiny cloud of particles chasing her as she marked out a clean path for her mistress. The accompanying dust pan was lacking in vigilance, however, and a dainty foot was not it the least bit happy. It was not at all surprising to the crowds occupying the plaza when it connected with the slave's cheek with all the force of a locomotive. Saint Velveteen was not a patient being; the haphazard application of court makeup across the map of her face could only help to attest to that fact. The slave's brain screamed in agony; screamed as it had never done before. She felt asphyxiated, the last bit of oxygen leaking from her wilted lungs, and she collapsed into a heap of forgotten symphony.

"Tonic! You clumsy idiot! Get out of my way! Can't you see that I am busy? Does your fish brain lack the ability to remember why we are here today?" the noble screamed. The girl addressed as "Tonic" lifted her face a millimeter off the ground. The sunlight felt like teeth. "Well? Answer me!" Saint Velveteen roared down upon the slave like a god. She stood up as rapidly as it was physically possibly, rubbing her wounded cheek absentmindedly. Tonic bowed her head like a good, little servant was expected to do and addressed her mistress.

"Yes, Saint Velveteen. I remember. I am so sorry for interrupting. Please have mercy upon me," she replied in a raspy voice, a little too quietly. The Tenryuubito sucked in oxygen aggressively through her nose, causing Tonic to whimper in distress. "It's because of Folly, miss. We need to find Folly," the slave added hurriedly. She could almost feel the cold edge of a knife dance across her jugular. This world was an impersonal world. Sighing like a damaged balloon, the noble attempted to quash her anger, failing miserably. She toyed with her bellybutton ring, twisting it this way and that, as she tried to think. Had she been too bold too let her slaves walk around without collars? Certainly it demonstrated her control, but had it become too dangerous? A foolhardy mistake? Behind this strange anthology laughs a deceptive triumph. Again all eyes were drawn to her. How she had always hated this place.

_Burn it down._

Saint Velveteen then did a very strange thing: she yawned. If they were going to stare, she figured that it would be best to seem as uninteresting as possible. It almost worked too.

A stray pyramid of plums died around the corner. The plaza appeared to be engulfed by the color purple momentarily, accentuated by a light blue and very concerned-looking face like a humorless joke.

"Folly", Saint Velveteen whispered with a malicious sneer. Holy retribution was finally at hand. Tonic looked in the direction of the disaster sympathetically as the sharp smell of smoke once again filled the air. Such shenanigans would not be tolerated.

_Burn baby, burn._


End file.
